Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down
by pillar-of-salt
Summary: "Tell me three things you like, even if they aren't good for you, proper, or decent." Smut.
1. Chapter 1

_For purpleplasticpurse ;)_

* * *

She's sitting on the end of his couch, heels kicked off and legs tucked up under her. Mike offers to pour her a second glass of wine, but she swirls the dregs already in her glass and refuses. She's pleasantly warm as it is - and anyway, the indulgence would be too decadent, especially after the dinner they'd just had. She'd shared a dessert with him, even. She tells him so.

"Haven't you ever overindulged in anything in your life?" he says. He's teasing. He pours half a glass for himself. "No one can have that much self-control every waking hour of the day. I mean seriously… haven't you ever just done anything for you?"

"Never," she says, dryly and immediately. "I'm selflessly anhedonistic and duty-bound. And that's why I always come out on top."

Mike chuckles at her sarcasm, then pauses, just looking at her. "Okay, then," he says. "So tell me three guilty pleasures. Three things you like, even if they aren't good for you, or selfless, or decorous."

She considers. "Single-malt scotch. Cabaret. And…" she twists her mouth in a little smirk. "Well. I'm not telling you the last one."

"Oh, but I'm really good at that one," he quips, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. He turns his attention to the other thing. "Cabarets? So… strip clubs. You like strip clubs." The idea seems to amuse him.

"Cabaret dancing is _not_ stripping." He puts up his hands in surrender, but his expression tells her he doesn't believe her. She considers whether to share this next thing with him… then decides she might as well. "I _was_ a cabaret dancer, you know, before law school. For a year."

His eyes widen. "You were a stripper."

"I. Was _not_. A stripper."

"You were a strip _tease_." He presses his lips together, as if trying to suppress his glee. She lobs a throw pillow at his head and he bats it away easily.

"A striptease is an _act_ , not an occupation. Not that it matters - because I didn't and I wasn't."

"Never? Not even for a second?"

"Never for public consumption."

His eyes light up. "Well then maybe you could demonstrate for me how you do it for _private_ -"

She scoffs. He stops.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. Men are so typical."

"I prefer 'easy to please'."

"I'm not putting on a stripshow for you, Mike. You'll have to convince me better than that."

He pauses, then nods. "Noted," he says, and she knows he'll bring this up again later.

She changes the subject. "So what about you, then? Three things you like, just because." She sips her wine.

Mike sets his glass on the coffee table and leans back. "Italian espresso. Tarantino movies. Going down on a woman."

She chokes on a mouthful of red. She thinks it's the reaction he wanted because he's smirking at her. Mike enjoys taking her by surprise, but perhaps forgets that she can turn the tables on him just as fast.

She sets down her glass next to his and replies, slyly, "I like going down on women, too."

His eyes widen. "...Are you fucking with me?"

She shrugs.

She's done it once or twice; doesn't mind it. But she only ever dates men, and generally only sleeps with them, too. "Even if I am, you'll still fantasize about it."

"Of course!" he splutters, like she'd be crazy to think otherwise. Typical - men were men. "But is it true?"

"I don't sleep with women often… and certainly not recently."

"So that means you're… bisexual?"

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Why do people always have to label things?"

"Well if you sleep with both men and women..."

"I sleep with men, and I _have_ slept with women."

"That's what I said."

"No, it's not exactly the same thi-"

"Which makes you bisexual."

"But I've never _dated_ a woman," she says exasperatedly, "Or been in a relationship with one. So I might argue the opposite. You know, your sexuality isn't solely about who you'll fuck."

Mike pauses, then relents in a rare show of concession. "Okay. I guess you have a point there."

"Uh-huh."

"I just didn't expect that to be the one thing we had in common."

"There are other things," she says, even as she's evaluating his statement with some agreement. They disagree on just about everything. From their politics to their taste in literature to their kids… "We both like scotch," she offers, aware that it's a weak one.

" _You_ like scotch," he corrects. "I drink it. I prefer gin."

She didn't know that. "You always order scotch when we have dinner," she says, bewildered.

"Because you do." He shrugs easily.

It's sweet, if a little ridiculous. "You could order gin!"

"I could," he agrees, but offers no further explanation beyond that. And suddenly, he's looking at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Tell me the third thing that you like," he coaxes. "I bet I like it, too."

And even if he didn't, Nadine thinks privately, he'd do it anyway to make her happy. (He _will_ like it, of course - she's never met a man who doesn't.)

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"Come on, tell me."

"You don't want to know for any good reason. Just so you could do it to me."

"I'd do anything you want to you," he says, and his voice is edged with just enough rough-hewn arousal that it sends a little shiver down her spine. "And we'd _both_ enjoy it. Tell me."

Somehow he's sitting very close to her now, though she can't recall him moving. He's got one hand on her bare knee, and his fingertips creep just under the hem of her skirt. His thumb strokes back and forth over her skin, and she drops her gaze to it pointedly, then up to his face.

She quirks an eyebrow. "I don't think you're up for it."

He tugs her down swiftly so that she's horizontal on the couch and hovers over her. "Try me," he growls. His gaze flickers down to her lips, and he's so close that she can feel his breath pass over them.

She hums and considers him. "...You have to promise," she murmurs finally, "that you'll still respect me after I tell you."

His smile is big. "So it's that kinda thing, huh? Tell me."

"Promise," she repeats.

"I promise."

Languidly, she stretches her arms above her head so that they dangle over the end of the sofa. "Sometimes," she murmurs, tilting her chin so that her lips brush against his, "I like to be tied up."

His breath hitches, and she smiles against his lips.

 _Got you_.

"Is that right?" he says roughly. He reaches up with one hand to capture both of her wrists in a hard grip that makes her heart race. She nods eagerly. "I think we can arrange that," he whispers, and captures her lips in an intense kiss.

She moans and arches her body against him, seeking more contact, more closeness, more… _more_. His hold on her wrists tightens, and Nadine's fingers flex on empty air.

"Let me take you upstairs," he murmurs, and her knees go a little weak.

* * *

 _TBC_

 _Comments welcome :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Smut._

* * *

"Have you done this before?" she asks, looking up at him.

They're both down to their underwear. Nadine's bra is gone; flung across the room with hardly a second thought. She's flat on her back in the middle of his mattress with her wrists together in front of her, and Mike is wrapping an expensive silk necktie around them.

"Nope. But I was a Boy Scout, so I'm pretty good with knots." He kisses the palm of her hand and pulls away, inspecting his work. "There. Try that."

Nadine tests her bindings. They're snug but not uncomfortable, and they hold fast when she tugs on them. She's impressed.

"Let me get one more thing…" Mike jumps off the bed and over to his closet. He comes back with a leather belt in his hands and Nadine pauses.

"Just so you know," she starts, a little nervously, "I'm not really into pain." He gives her a questioning look and she nods toward the belt. "If you were planning to hit me with that -"

"No, of course not!" he sputters, taken aback. "I wouldn't - that's not -"

She relaxes. "Okay. Good."

"I would _never_ physically hurt you," he says, and he is suddenly very, very serious, like it's extremely important to him that she understands this.

"Of course not," she murmurs, and because he still looks perturbed, she sits up and cups his face with her joined hands, kissing him softly on the lips. "So then what's the belt for?"

"I was gonna strap you to the mattress. There's a handle up top. Lie back and put your arms up."

She scoots down before lying back, raising her arms above her head again. Mike loops the belt between her bound wrists. He reaches under the top of the mattress and pulls the fitted sheet up, feeling for the stitched handle underneath. He threads one end of the belt through it and then secures the buckle. Nadine pulls on it experimentally. There's a little slack, but she's… she's stuck here.

Her heart starts to beat a little faster.

Mike moves so that he's kneeling between her legs, watching her test his handiwork with darkening eyes. "I'm not gonna lie," he rasps, "you look sexy as hell tied up like this."

She smiles seductively. "I'm impressed with you, Barnow."

"I aim to please." He strokes her legs. "What is it about this that gets you off?"

"No one can have that much control every waking hour of the day," she murmurs, echoing his words from earlier in the evening.

"You like giving up control."

"Hmm. Mhm. Sometimes I just come better this way."

He grins. "That's good to know." Slowly, he leans over her until his lips are right over hers. He slides warm hands up her ribcage, and she feels his thumb brush over the side of her bare breast. He circles her nipple with the tip of a finger and she shivers. With unexpected tenderness, he presses his lips gently to hers.

It's a slow kiss; deep and full and lush. Nadine sighs as he licks into her mouth, and moans when he sucks her bottom lip between both of his. He begins to stroke her nipple with his thumb as he kisses her, and she arcs her body into his touch.

She forgets, momentarily, about her bonds. She tries to bring her hands up to wrap around his neck, wanting to pull him closer, but the belt jerks and holds fast. Mike smiles, squeezing her breast. "If you want something," he rasps, "I guess you'll just have to ask for it."

So she raises her hips to grind against his. He groans. She says, "Touch me."

He furrows his brow. "Is that how we ask?"

"I'm not asking. I'm telling." She raises her hips again for good measure, but Mike moves away easily and she can't.

"Oh, I don't think you're in any position to be making demands, sweetheart. Ask me nicely."

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip slowly, knowing it will draw his eyes. " _Please_ touch me?" she says sweetly.

It makes him smile. "Better." He moves his hand over her breast, sliding it down her bare torso, over the lace skimming her hips, and down her inner thigh. He brushes his fingertips over the sensitive skin behind her knee and then back up again. He cups her between her legs, where she is already warm and wet and certain that he can feel it through her panties. He presses his fingers against the lace barrier and she moans, pushing back against the slight pressure. He moves back and forth, and it's not enough of a sensation to do anything but tease.

"Touch me _properly_ ," she says, but he simply smirks at her again. Leaning over her, he captures her lips in a bruising kiss that steals her breath and makes Nadine nearly forget what she wanted in the first place.

And then he's pushed her underwear to the side with his thumb, and there are fingers sweeping through the wetness at her entrance and she opens her mouth against his in a moan. Mike uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into it.

He just circles his fingers against her, teasing, and just when she's regained her senses enough to start kissing him back again like she means it, he slides one finger into her, swift and to the knuckle. And then one finger becomes two, and he's derailed her all over again.

Her lips tremble against his and her arms pull tight against their ties. He pumps his hand slowly. He's still kissing the life out of her, but she can't quite manage to give it back like she's getting it. Her legs slide against the sheets as she moves her entire lower body against his fingers. He's building her up nicely, and as long as he continues like this -

Mike breaks the kiss and pulls his hand away completely. She cries out, feeling bereft, but he pulls her hips up, hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulls them off of her. Then he simply sits back and stares.

The seconds tick by too long. "Come on, Mike." He doesn't move. "I'm yours to take," she coaxes - _pleads_ really, because she can't help herself. She spreads her legs obscenely wide, trying to entice him into giving her _something_. She doesn't care how desperate she seems. She is.

Suddenly, Mike smiles dangerously. He lays next to her and hooks his leg over one of hers to hold them open. He kisses the inside of her bicep as his fingers trail down her abdomen and in between her legs again. She shivers. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, "I'm going to take you _apart_."

He slides his fingers into her again, and this time he curls them against that spot inside of her. She gasps as he tugs on it with perfect pressure, unrelenting, angling his wrist so that he can reach it with every stroke. Nadine is suddenly finding it very hard to breathe.

"Oh g-god," she whimpers. She has to turn her head away from him as she struggles to catch her breath, tilting her head back and staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Mike presses his lips to the base of her neck. She thrusts her hips up against his strokes, and above her head her hands twist, fingers curling around the leather belt that holds them together (and is quite possibly holding _her_ together) and clinging to it desperately. The muscles in her arms are taut and tense. "That feels so _good_ ," she says on a moan. Her ties work against her, providing a delicious resistance that helps build up the pressure inside her even higher, even faster, and she just needs -

Mike readjusts himself so that he can put his other hand to work; he presses it down on her pelvis and uses his thumb to rub her clit firmly.

She unravels so fast that it feels like she's just got the wind knocked out of her. She gasps and yanks hard on her ties, nearly pulling her entire body up the mattress. "Oh my god Mike, I'm gonna come," she cries out.

And a few seconds later, she does, and the electricity of her orgasm zips hot and fast through her veins. Hard tremors run through her body and she moans with reckless abandon. Her legs thrash against the sheets as she cries out and twists violently against her makeshift handcuffs. "Oh my god," she breathes.

"Holy shit," Mike says softly.

Her entire body trembles as she comes down. It's been so long since she's done it this way that Nadine nearly forgot what it does for her; how _good_ it is. It's been a long time since she's trusted someone enough to let them tie her up like this; trusted them enough to take full responsibility for her pleasure.

But thus far, Mike is proving himself to be admirably qualified for the task.

He's laying against her side again, running his hands up and down her torso now, soothing, bringing her back down from her high. "Nadine," he says. His voice is husky with arousal.

"Hm?" She's still in a daze. Her wrists are a little sore from all her pulling, and she flexes her fingers to work some feeling back into them.

"You _really_ like that."

She turns to look at him. Her lips curl into a lazy, sated smile. "I _really_ do."

"Nadine," he says again. His hand moves up to her breast. He rolls her nipple between his fingers and she hums. "How many times do you think you can come in one night?"

"What?"

He licks at the sensitive spot on her neck, just under her jaw. "I said, how many times do you think you can come in one night?"

Her mind races. "I - I don't know." No one's ever asked her that before. She thinks back; tries to remember all the times she's ever had sex in her life - or at least in the last decade. She and Mike, perhaps surprisingly, have always been compatible, have always been _good_ together. (Even on election night, both half-drunk and new to each other, it had been - what had Mike said? - _crazy_.) Glenn was nice, but gentle - _too_ gentle, sometimes, and that wasn't always what she needed or wanted. Sex with Vincent had always been explosive, exciting - but they'd rarely ever had the time or opportunity for the kind of marathon sex sessions that Mike is implying. And she can't even remember the last time she'd gotten _herself_ off that many times in a row. (Who had that kind of time?)

"You don't know?" he murmurs near her ear. He tugs on her earlobe with gentle teeth.

She shivers. What, like three orgasms? Four? Did that seem about right?

She's a multiple kind of girl, but there's a limit.

Of course, when someone ties her up… sometimes that's a different story.

"Maybe four?" she offers.

"Four." She can feel him smile against her jaw. "Let's see if we can do better than that tonight." Her eyes widen, though he doesn't notice. He kisses the side of her neck.

And that's when she realizes that this is a _game_ to him - a challenge. He's commodifying her pleasure; having fun with it; treating it like it's his prize.

And as he begins to kiss and lick his way down her restrained body, she can't say that she minds.

* * *

A couple of hours later and Nadine is in pieces.

"God, _fuck me_ ," she begs. Her voice is nearly gone. She's losing her mind. She's already lost count. Her body still shakes from the orgasm _before_ the one he's _just_ given her, and she's nearly delirious. She can barely move against her restraints anymore; she's limp and sore and exhausted and still craving him.

Mike hovers over her, thrusting slowly. "I am," he rasps.

But he isn't. He's going slow; being tender. He isn't _fucking_ her. And it's delicious, but it's driving her nuts.

After he'd taken her apart with his fingers and his tongue a few times, Mike finally _finally_ slid inside of her, filling her up, keeping it slow, savoring it. There's an open bottle of lube on the nightstand and lube slippery on her skin and his - because after a while her body was done, but she wasn't, and he wasn't.

And so he's been going at it just like this for the better part of the past hour. He'd stroke her clit lightly, soft and steady (enough to tantalize, but not so much as to make it sore) whenever he wanted her to come again. And then she would, because he'd make her. He's learned to play her body like an instrument.

"No, _fuck_ me," Nadine says again, because he damn well knows the difference.

Mike has been holding off his own orgasm this whole time, and she can only imagine how hard he's had to concentrate to last this long for her. His breathing is ragged, harsh. "Is that what you want?"

"Give it to me hard." She's desperate, and feels desperately filthy. She wants to wrap her arms around him; pull him down, hold him close, drag her fingernails down his back - but she holds onto the leather belt instead, and her arms shake and her need grows.

He lifts one of her legs over his shoulder and thrusts deep, and she cries out. He slams into her again. And then again. "Like that?"

" _Just_ like that," she gasps. She wraps her other leg around his waist and meets him stroke for stroke.

He buries his head in the crook of her neck as he fucks her properly. "God, Nadine," he groans, "I'm so close."

"C-come for me," she whimpers. "Come on Mike, please -"

"Give me one more orgasm."

She cries out again, this time almost in anguish. She doesn't know if she can. Above her head, her arms tremble, on the brink of going completely numb.

He trails a thumb lightly over her soaking clit and her hips jerk and she squeaks. Well _maybe_ -

He does it again. His thrusts are becoming frenetic, losing rhythm. Nadine's fingers flex; she wishes she had a hand free to reach down and take care of this herself, but then he begins to move his thumb in steady circles right over the tip of her clit, and her eyes roll back in her head and the pressure builds hard and fast, as if she _hasn't_ already come several times tonight. Her leg begins to tremble on his shoulder, and -

" _Mike!_ " she moans as she comes around him again. Her head slams back on the pillows and her back arches against him. Another thrust and he's right there with her.

He shudders over her body with a long groan. He collapses on top of her, panting. They're both slick with sweat. "Oh my god," he mumbles against her neck. She has to agree.

They lay there for a moment before he shifts so that he isn't crushing her. Clumsily, he reaches up to unbuckle the belt from the mattress. It takes a couple tries, but he gets it loose, pulling it open and gently helping her to bring her arms down. She hisses in discomfort as she moves her aching shoulders. Mike undoes the necktie and casts that aside, too.

Her wrists are red. They might bruise later - something she'd neglected to think about earlier when she'd suggested this little… activity. She'll have to be extra careful when she dresses for work this week.

He kisses the insides of both wrists softly, and uses his hands to rub some feeling back into her fingers. He reaches over her to grab a few tissues from the nightstand, and then reaches down between her legs. He's exceedingly tender, aware of how sore she probably is at the moment. He tosses them in the wastebasket and then turns back, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighs in contentment. A quiet moment passes, and then he murmurs, "Seven."

"Hmm?"

"You came seven times."

She laughs softly. She can't believe him. "You were actually keeping track." _Seven orgasms_. Jesus.

"Of course I was." He shifts so that he can lay his head between her breasts, listening to her heartbeat. "You're amazing. I love to see you enjoying yourself."

"'Enjoying myself' - I think that's a bit of an understatement."

He lifts his head; he's grinning at her in smug self-satisfaction, but she'll let him have this one. She thinks he's more than earned the right to be smug.

"What can I say - you look irresistible handcuffed to my bed."

Nadine rolls them over so that she's now draped on top of him, and his hand settles over her ass. "Maybe we can tie _you_ up next time," she says, lips quirking. "I think you'll like that too."

His hand squeezes. He doesn't object. "You know, I think it's growing on me."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


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